


Like a Fine Wine

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [137]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adopted Children, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Supernatural Elements, Suspense, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-06-19 19:31:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15517020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: The bloke he’d met hadn’t seemed like anything special, at first—fit, yes, in the lean and rangy way that Arthur liked, but it wasn’t as if there were a shortage of slim, dark-haired men in London. Then Arthur had seen his eyes.





	1. Chapter 1

 

“I have two words for you, mate,” Gwaine said, sitting down next to Arthur and shoving one of the glasses of beer towards him. “Beer goggles.”  
  
“Shut up, Gwaine,” Arthur said, elbowing his friend hard between the ribs. “I’m telling you, he was gorgeous.”  
  
“Yeah, and you were how many sheets to the wind that night?” Gwaine snorted. “You were probably making eyes at that lamp over there.” He gestured with his glass at the far corner, where a shabby antique lamp kept watch forlornly over a couple of battered old armchairs. It looked to be at least a hundred years old, moth-eaten in places and sporting several bald patches along its velvet trim, like a skinny old man gone slightly to seed. It was definitely not the man Arthur had fallen head-over-heels for only a couple of days ago.  
  
“Are you forgetting which of us was the one who got blind drunk and started making out with the mop at Lance’s going-away party?” Arthur asked, taking a sip of his drink. He grimaced—the brew was foul, but it was that or some fancy name brand he’d never heard of. “Of the two of us, I think the lamp is definitely more your type.”  
  
“Oi, that was _one time_ ,” Gwaine whined, but he subsided somewhat after that, joining Arthur in scanning the crowd.  
  
In all honesty, Arthur wasn’t sure why he’d come back here—The Dragoon wasn’t his usual sort of pub, being old and kind of run-down, and catering to a very different sort of clientele than the places he typically frequented. It didn’t even serve good beer. And yet, he couldn’t seem to get last week’s encounter out of his head. The bloke he’d met hadn’t seemed like anything special, at first—fit, yes, in the lean and rangy way that Arthur liked, but it wasn’t as if there were a shortage of slim, dark-haired men in London.  
  
Then Arthur had seen his eyes.  
  
They were deep, vibrant blue, fringed with dark lashes, and when his gaze met Arthur’s across the room, he had felt a frisson of _something_ —something more than the usual run-of-the-mill physical attraction that drove most of his short-term hookups. Even plastered as he was, Arthur had been determined not to leave without learning the man’s name, and he'd made his way over to him on unsteady feet, hoping for—well. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, but he felt in his bones that something important was about to happen.  
  
But it never did. The man had seen Arthur approaching and turned pale, scrambling to his feet as though intending to escape. Arthur sped up, only registering the fact that one of the servers was in his way when he'd knocked the man’s tray to the floor with a crash.  
  
Glasses and beer flew everywhere, and by the time the mess had been cleared away, the man Arthur had been staring at was gone. Arthur was shepherded out of the door by his friends, who were eager to hit the next stop on their celebratory pub crawl. He didn’t really remember much about the rest of the night, but he did remember the man, which was why he was back at The Dragoon, exactly one week later—same day, same time, but now painfully sober and with only Gwaine for company. Although he was starting to regret this latter fact immensely.  
  
“Is that him?” Gwaine asked, for the umpteenth time, pointing at a squatly built man with a thin black beard and receding hairline. Arthur scowled at him and shook his head.  
  
“Stop helping,” he said. “You’re the opposite of a good wingman, did you know that?”  
  
Gwaine chortled into his drink. “Does that make me your ball and chain?”  
  
Arthur rolled his eyes, and was about to deliver a stinging retort when he felt the prickle of eyes on the back of his neck. Turning, he felt his stomach flip over—it was the man from last week, sitting in the same booth near the rear of the pub, watching him. Arthur turned back towards Gwaine, his eyes wide.  
  
“Don’t look now,” he said. “But he’s here. Table at the back, wearing the blue jumper.”  
  
“That’s him?” Gwaine whistled, craning shamelessly over Arthur’s shoulder. “I take it back, mate. You have excellent taste. D’you think he’d be up for a threesome?”  
  
“I’m going to talk to him,” Arthur said, ignoring this last remark entirely. He downed the last of his drink and stood, keeping a weather eye out for any passing waiters or other obstacles as he made his way across the room.  
  
When he stopped in front of the other man’s table, those dark blue eyes were already on his, steady and searching. The directness of that look, the _familiarity_ of it, stirred a faint chime of recollection deep inside Arthur’s mind.  
  
“Er, hi,” he said, momentarily breathless. “I'm Arthur. Erm—this is going to sound like a line, but do I know you from somewhere?”  
  
The man snorted, but he held out his hand. “I’m Merlin,” he said. “And I don’t think so. I’d remember.”  
  
“I suppose I am quite memorable,” Arthur agreed, grinning lopsidedly. “Still. It’s a shame. I was hoping I might take the opportunity to buy you a drink, for old time’s sake.”  
  
Merlin stared at him for a long moment—long enough that Arthur rubbed at the nape of his neck, opening his mouth to play it off as a joke. Before he could say anything, however, Merlin blurted, “Are you serious?” and blushed to the tips of his ears. Arthur’s heart leapt.  
  
“Deadly,” he said, trying to arrange his face into a suitably solemn expression. It was difficult when all he wanted to do was jump up and down in triumph. “Why, you interested?”  
  
“Maybe.” Merlin looked up at him through his eyelashes, a slow smile blooming across his face that was equal parts shy and mischievous. “Why don’t you ask me and we’ll find out?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for CD Prompt #324: Entangle, Courage, Attic.

 

It was hard to stop looking at Merlin.  
  
Up close, his face was more compelling than ever, and he had an unfairly attractive mouth which did things when he smiled that made Arthur want to lean across the table and kiss him. Arthur didn’t believe in love at first sight or any of that romantic rubbish, but he had to admit this seemed to come awfully close. He had never been so deeply attracted to someone before, especially someone he had barely said more than a few words to. It was unnerving.  
  
Fortunately, Merlin appeared to be similarly overwhelmed; he kept glancing at Arthur over his glass then looking away, the tips of his ears turning red as he blushed, and it was only because of his awkwardness and obvious embarrassment that Arthur finally got up the courage to ask him what he wanted to know.  
  
“So,” he said, picking up his tankard and staring into its depths so that he wouldn’t have to look Merlin in the face. “You said we’ve never met before, right?”  
  
“Right.” Merlin coughed a little as he swallowed, then pushed his beer away with a wary expression, his shoulders tense. “We haven’t.”  
  
“So you’ve said.” Arthur waited, but when Merlin didn’t respond any further, he went on. “Which kind of begs the question: why did you run?”  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
“When you first saw me,” Arthur elaborated, enunciating clearly even though he knew Merlin had understood him just fine the first time. There was something about his eyes; that clear blue gaze couldn’t lie. “You bolted out of here like you owed me money or something. Which is kind of an odd reaction to a total stranger, don’t you think?”  
  
There was a long silence, during which Arthur could hear the sound of someone playing _Toxic_ on the old jukebox over in the corner. Behind the bar, the bartender was cracking jokes with Gwaine, who had apparently gotten bored with waiting for Arthur to score and decided to do it himself. It was an ordinary night in an ordinary pub, and yet Arthur couldn’t help feeling that there was a charge of electricity in the air, as though a storm were about to break.  
  
“Okay,” Merlin said finally, blowing his breath out in a rush. “Okay, this is going to sound crazy, but hear me out. I’ve seen your face before.”  
  
“Okay…?” Arthur just looked at him, waiting for the punchline. “Kind of a coincidence, I guess, but so what? Did you steal my parking space or something?”  
  
“No, you don’t understand.” Merlin shifted in his seat, reaching down to rummage in the pocket of his jeans. After a moment, he drew out an old photograph, creased at the corners, and shoved it across the table to Arthur. “I found this in my uncle’s attic six months ago. Tell me you don’t think there’s something odd about it.”  
  
Arthur picked the picture off the table. There were two men in it, both of them dressed in white linen suits of a sort that had gone out of style a hundred years before. They were solemn-faced, as subjects of those times often were, but there was something about their expressions that spoke of a painful kind of happiness, hidden just beneath the surface. It perhaps had something to do with the way they were looking at one another instead of at the camera, their postures mirroring one another, bent forward like two men complicit in a secret.  
  
They were also uncannily identical to Arthur and Merlin, down to the last freckle.  
  
“This is a joke,” Arthur said flatly, pushing the photograph back across the table. “You’re setting me up.”  
  
“I swear, I’m not,” Merlin said, shaking his head. “I couldn’t believe it either, when I saw you. I thought I was losing my mind. But I swear, I _swear to you_ , if it’s a joke then I’m not in on it. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw your face.” He reached across the table and put a hand on Arthur’s wrist, causing a shudder to ripple through him at the contact. “I promise, I’m not trying to trick you, Arthur.”  
  
Arthur yanked his hand away and pushed back his chair. “Stay away from me,” he blurted, his voice shaking. He was trying to sound firm, but it mostly came out like fear. “I don’t know what stupid game you think you’re playing, but this isn’t funny, and if you come near me again I’m going to call the police.”  
  
“Arthur, please—”  
  
Arthur cut him off. “I have to go,” he said brusquely and made a beeline for the door of the pub, desperate to get some air. Had Merlin been following him—spying on him? It wasn’t exactly normal behaviour, was it, to have photoshopped their faces onto this old photograph? What if Merlin was some kind of crazy stalker who had chosen Arthur as his next victim?  
  
And yet—it was a very old photograph. Too old to have been newly printed. It was scuffed and faded and worn, and there were smears of ink on the back—and the _clothes_ …  
  
If it was a fake, it was a very convincing one. Why would anyone go to all that trouble?  
  
Arthur stopped just outside the pub doors, hunching his shoulders and stepping into the lee of the building to avoid the rain. Cold chills were running down his spine, but not from the weather.  
  
A fake photograph wouldn’t explain his feelings about Merlin, the way he’d been drawn to him irresistibly from the beginning; nor would it explain his conviction that the two of them must have met somewhere before. The last thing he wanted to do after the whole mess with Sophia was to entangle himself in whatever the hell this was, but much as he would have liked to, he couldn’t deny the truth.  
  
Something strange was going on. And he wanted—no, he _needed_ to find out what.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

“So, did you enjoy yourself last night?” Gwaine asked, coming into the kitchen wearing nothing but his boxers. He waggled his eyebrows at Arthur, scratching his belly as he opened the fridge. “I saw you and your mystery guy take off together. Did he finally remove that stick from your arse and replace it with something more interesting?”  
  
Arthur, who had been about to swallow a bite of toast, choked on it instead, spraying crumbs all over the table.  
  
“We didn’t _take off together_ ,” he said, once he could speak. “ _I_ took off. He followed me.”  
  
Gwaine waved a hand. “Semantics,” he said dismissively. “My point is, did he stay the night, or has he left already? I was hoping for the chance to meet him properly, if you know what I mean.”  
  
He gave a pointed leer, and Arthur bristled.  
  
“He’s not here,” he said, turning back to his breakfast so that Gwaine couldn’t read his expression. “And for your information, he never has been. We exchanged details last night and went our separate ways.”  
  
“You did what?” When Arthur looked up, it was to find Gwaine staring at him in open disbelief. “All that fuss, and the only thing you did was get his number?” He shook his head. “Mate, you really need to up your game.”  
  
Arthur decided not to dignify that comment with a response. Truth be told, he did kind of regret not inviting Merlin home with him—he'd been hoping they would hit it off all evening, but the discovery of their historical doppelgängers had kind of spoiled the mood. And…well. There was something about Merlin, something about the too-big ears and guileless blue eyes that made Arthur want to protect him. At the very least, he didn’t want to inflict _Gwaine_ on him until he was sure it wasn’t going to scare the man off.  
  
“It was a timing thing,” he said vaguely, gulping down the remainder of his coffee and leaving the rest of his toast on his plate. He knew Gwaine would scarf it down in seconds as soon as he left the table—he was better than a dog that way. “Anyway, I don’t see why you care—you and that bartender seemed to be getting quite well acquainted when I left.”  
  
A brief frown flitted across Gwaine’s face, before it was replaced by his usual grin as he took a carton of eggs from the fridge. “His name’s Percival,” he said, breaking a couple into a bowl. “And he’s a giant. Like, in more ways than one.” The grin broadened into an outright smirk. “I hear he and mystery guy are old friends, as a matter of fact.”  
  
“ _Are_ they?” Arthur said with interest. Merlin hadn’t mentioned that the night before. “So, does that mean you actually spoke to him for more than five seconds before you shagged? I’m impressed.”  
  
“Har de har har.” To Arthur’s surprise, Gwaine seemed to have become uncharacteristically engrossed in his breakfast, pouring the eggs into a saucepan and setting it on the stove to heat with intent concentration. Arthur knew for a fact that this was not a manoeuvre which required much thought, having managed it plenty of times while grossly hungover, but Gwaine’s lips were pursed, and when he next spoke, there was an oddly distracted note in his voice. “We got chatting, that’s all. He’s a nice guy.”  
  
“Okay,” Arthur said slowly, studying him. Gwaine was avoiding his gaze, still fixated on his eggs, and after a moment Arthur got up and dumped his coffee cup in the sink. His flatmate’s strange mood was the least of his problems right now. “Well, I’ve got a few errands to run this morning, so I’m going to head out. You two crazy kids have fun, now.”  
  
“Sir, yes, sir,” Gwaine said, saluting him with the spatula. Bits of scrambled eggs flew all over the kitchen, and Arthur had to duck to get out of the line of fire. “Tell your ‘errand’ that Percival and I said hi.”  
  
“Will do,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure my father will be delighted to discuss Percival’s gigantic dick the next time you meet.”  
  
He opened the door, grinning, to leave a spluttering Gwaine behind him.  


 

  
+

  
  
As always, Arthur’s parents were surprised to see him—surprised, but pleased.  
  
“Your mother’s baking,” his father said, ushering Arthur inside. “No doubt she’ll try to claim credit for expecting company before she even knew you were here.”  
  
“She's still into that psychic stuff, then?” Arthur said, amused, as he toed off his boots and hung his coat up in the hall. His father merely snorted in reply, which Arthur took to mean his guess had been correct. “Well, if it makes her happy.”  
  
He was pretty sure his father rolled his eyes, but when the two of them went into the kitchen, he didn’t object when Claudine gave Arthur a hug and exclaimed that she must have had a sixth sense that he was coming. “I’m making your favourite,” she added, pushing him into a chair and going to fetch a plate. “Sit, let me get you a slice.”  
  
Arthur let her fuss over him, happy for the excuse to put off what he had come to say a while longer; besides, he relished any opportunity to sample his mothers’ baking. His father sat down opposite, watching the exchange with a thoughtful expression, and Arthur could tell he knew that something was up.  
  
“Well?” he said, once Arthur had made a solid start on his steaming shortcake. “What’s wrong? Don’t try to tell me this is a social visit; not this early on a Saturday morning.”  
  
“It’s not.” Arthur put his fork down and sat back, trying to figure out the best way to phrase what he’d come to say. At last, he took a deep breath. “I need to ask you guys some questions,” he said, looking his father straight in the eye, “about my birth parents.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

There was a long pause inside the kitchen. Behind him, Arthur heard his mother fumble with some cutlery, swearing quietly under her breath; he must really have startled her. His father, however, just looked back at him steadily, keeping whatever he was feeling carefully concealed beneath his bushy white brows.  
  
“I always wondered when you were going to bring up that topic,” he said finally. He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs in front of him and crossing his arms over his belly. “What exactly do you want to know?”  
  
Arthur hadn’t really thought about that—for some reason, despite the fact that they had always been open with him about the adoption, he’d expected his parents to balk at the idea of telling him more about his birth family.  
  
“Well…” He hesitated, then decided to just plunge right in. “Do you know who they are?”  
  
His parents exchanged glances. “It was a closed adoption,” his father said, after a moment. “But we do know a few things. Not for certain, you understand. Just—impressions.”  
  
In spite of himself, Arthur felt his heart-rate speed up. “What kind of impressions?”  
  
“Well.” Hector considered. “From what I could gather, your birth parents were quite wealthy. At least, it seemed that way to me. They supplied us with quite a few baby items, you know—good quality stuff. We still have some of it in the attic.”  
  
Arthur frowned. “Is that—normal?” he asked.  
  
“I don’t think so,” his mother said. She had abandoned the dishes in the sink and came to sit down next to him, taking one of Arthur’s hands and lacing it with her own. “From something I overheard the case-workers saying, it seemed like maybe they weren’t intending to put you up for adoption at all, but then something happened which made them change their minds.”  
  
“Oh.” Arthur looked down at their joined fingers. Funny—he'd always assumed that his birth parents had given him up because they couldn’t keep him; because they were too poor, or too sick, or something like that. The idea that it might have been a deliberate choice came as something of a shock. “Do you think—I mean, why would they do that? Was I such a terrible baby?”  
  
His mother’s grip tightened. “Of course not,” she said firmly, leaning forward until she could look him in the eye. “You were a lovely baby. But life can be unpredictable. Perhaps they lost a great deal of money and couldn’t look after you anymore. Or maybe someone in the family took ill, and they thought it would be best for you to be brought up by someone else.”  
  
Arthur was silent for a few minutes, digesting this. Finally, he said, “Is there some way I can find out, do you know? I mean—I’d like to know more about them, maybe track them down if they’re still alive.”  
  
Hector and his wife shared another look, and then Claudine withdrew her hands and tucked them back into her lap.  
  
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Hector said. “I’m sorry, Arthur, but it was made pretty clear to us that they weren’t open to the idea of getting in touch.”  
  
That stung, but still Arthur refused to let it go. “It’s not like I want money off them or anything,” he argued. “I just want to ask them about a photograph.”  
  
“What photograph?”  
  
“A friend of mine found it in his uncle’s attic. There’s a man in it that looks a lot like me, and I wondered…well. We thought he might be a relative.”  
  
Arthur might have been imagining it, but he could have sworn he saw his father’s expression darken at the word ‘relative.’ “It’s probably just a coincidence,” he said gruffly. “Remember what happened with that Sophia girl. You don’t want to get yourself killed chasing after nothing.”  
  
“I’m not _chasing after nothing_ ,” Arthur said, annoyed. “I’m pretty sure the photograph is real, at least, and I’m sure Merlin would be happy to get it tested if you need proof.”  
  
“Yes, I’m sure he would be.” Hector snorted, shaking his head. “And what makes you so certain this Merlin fellow can be trusted?”  
  
“Because,” Arthur said through gritted teeth, “I’ve met him. He’s nothing like Sophia.”  
  
“Hmph.” Hector set his jaw. “Maybe not. But it still sounds like a load of hooey to me. You’d be better off leaving things alone and concentrating on what’s in front of you, not haring off on another wild goose chase.”  
  
Arthur clenched his fists, but said nothing. It was the same line his father had always fed him when he was a boy; you were adopted, you’re our son now, you’re much better off leaving it alone. Arthur had never pressed the issue, having felt no particular desire to seek out his roots, but now he wondered how Hector could say that with such confidence if he had no idea who Arthur’s biological family were.  
  
“I’ll make us all some hot chocolate,” his mother said brightly, breaking the silence as she pushed back her chair. “You will stay for a proper visit, won’t you, Arthur? It’s been ages.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Mum,” Arthur said, looking away from his father at last and getting to his feet. He kissed his mother on the cheek. “I have to get going—I’m meeting someone for lunch. But I promise I’ll stop by again soon.” He smiled and squeezed her arm. “Thanks for the shortcake.”  
  
“You’re welcome, dear,” Claudine said, but although she smiled back at him, she still looked troubled as she followed him into the hall. “You won’t hold this against your father, will you? He just doesn’t want you to get hurt.”  
  
“I know, Mum.” Arthur glanced back at her over his shoulder. “But I’m a big boy, you know. I think I can handle it.”  
  
“If you say so,” she responded, showing him to the door. But she didn’t sound very optimistic.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Merlin was already waiting for him when Arthur arrived at The Dragoon a few hours later. He was sitting in the exact same spot as he had been when Arthur first saw him, his hands wrapped thoughtfully around a cup of steaming coffee, although the frown on his face all but melted away when he caught sight of Arthur in the doorway.  
  
“I wasn’t sure you were going to show,” he said as Arthur sat down across from him. “You seemed pretty freaked out the other day.”  
  
“You’d just shown me scientific proof that doppelgängers exist,” Arthur said drily. “Of course I was a little freaked out. Weren’t you?  
  
Merlin shot him a wry smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Oh, no,” he said. “I run into eerie look-alikes in my favourite bar all the time.”  
  
Arthur grinned. “And here I thought I was special,” he said. “I bet you have hundred-year-old photographs of all the boys you meet.”  
  
Merlin ducked his head as though to contain his laughter, glancing up at Arthur through his lashes. “Only the interesting ones,” he said, and yeah, he was definitely flirting. Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you going to order something, or what?”  
  
“Oh, right.”  
  
Arthur ordered a hamburger and chips, since that was the only vaguely lunch-like meal the pub offered, and when he returned to his seat, Merlin scooted forward in his chair and lowered his voice. “So, what’s your theory?”  
  
“My theory?”  
  
“About the photograph!” Merlin gestured with one hand. “Personally, I’m leaning towards reincarnation.”  
  
“As in, being born again?” Arthur was unable to hide the scepticism in his voice. “That’s a myth.”  
  
“Not necessarily. There are lots of cases where children have talked about things they remember from past lives—people, places, events. Some of them have even been verified.”  
  
Arthur snorted. “By whom?”  
  
“Scientists. Doctors.” Merlin’s jaw set in a manner Arthur recognised as a precursor to stubbornness. “It’s not completely crazy, you know. How else do you explain the fact that we’re identical to the men in that photo?”  
  
“Genetics,” Arthur said flatly. “Obviously, the four of us are related.” He shook his head when Merlin’s face fell. “I’m sorry, but you can’t seriously believe that we used to be them in another life, can you? That’s ridiculous.”  
  
“Maybe. But what about—I mean…” Merlin hesitated, his gaze flicking down to Arthur’s mouth then back up again. “Genetics doesn’t explain everything, does it?”  
  
No, it didn’t explain everything. It didn’t explain why both of them had somehow been born looking like two men who must have been at best their great, great grand-somethings, nor could it account for whatever series of unlikely events had led to them both being in the same bar at the same time. And it certainly didn’t explain why, sitting here staring into Merlin’s handsome, earnest face, Arthur felt the same tug of visceral attraction as he had that first night, the same uncomfortable certainty that he knew this man better than he had any right to.  
  
“Maybe not,” Arthur admitted finally. “But you have to agree, it’s a lot more plausible than the idea that we were them in a previous life.”  
  
“Says you,” Merlin contested, but he was smiling again. “In any case, if we want to know what’s really going on, I think we need to find out more about them. Who they were, how they knew each other…whether we’re related in any way.”  
  
“That sounds like a good idea,” Arthur agreed. He pulled out his phone, and after a few swipes offered it across the table so that Merlin could see the screen. “And I know exactly where we should start.”  
  
“Arthur Edmund Kaye,” Merlin read out loud. “Born December 22, 1990. What is this?”  
  
“My birth certificate,” Arthur explained, taking the phone back from him. “Or rather, my adoption certificate. I was adopted when I was only a few months old.”  
  
“Oh!” Merlin’s eyes widened with realisation. “So you think this might have something to do with your birth family?”  
  
Arthur shrugged one shoulder. “It’s possible, right? I asked my parents who they were, but they claim to have no idea. So I thought, maybe we could start by finding out their names and see if we can track them down.”  
  
Something in his voice must have given away how uncomfortable he felt at this prospect, because Merlin frowned a little and reached over to lay a hand on his arm. “Are you sure you want to do that?” he asked. “I mean, I’m guessing since you haven’t looked them up after all this time, that it wasn’t something you were really planning on doing until I dropped that photograph into your lap.”  
  
“It wasn’t,” Arthur said. He frowned down at Merlin’s hand, considering. “In fact, I've never really thought about it all that much. My parents have never hidden the fact that I was adopted, but my dad always said I was better off leaving well enough alone, and so I did. Half the time it never even occurred to me that I’m not their biological son.”  
  
Merlin tilted his head. “Not even in the throes of teenage rebellion?”  
  
“Nope. Not even then.” Arthur half-smiled, feeling a little uneasy as he remembered his father’s earlier anger. “Plus, when I asked them about it this morning…it was really weird. I could swear they know more than they’re saying, but I can’t think of any reason why they might want to cover up the truth. It’s not as if I’m going to un-adopt myself or something and run away to live with the people who abandoned me.”  
  
“Maybe they’re trying to protect you,” Merlin suggested. “Maybe they think you’ll be disappointed if your family aren’t who you want them to be.”  
  
“Maybe.” Arthur shrugged. “Either way, I want to find out what’s going on.”  
  
Merlin studied his face for a moment longer, then nodded firmly. “Okay,” he said. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

 


End file.
